


but if we die at the same time (does it still scare you?)

by bs13



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Slasher AU, basically a mashup of murder & pining & gay tension, ft. warranted suspicion of everyone in this town, w/a side of friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-08-13 02:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bs13/pseuds/bs13
Summary: Lena hasn't been to Midvale since she was a baby. But when her father dies, she enlists Kara Danvers's help to tie up loose ends—and maybe even figure out the truth of her biological mother's death. However, when a series of murders tear up this quiet town, secrets begin to emerge left and right...and suddenly, Lena isn't sure who she can trust anymore.





	1. house of the rising sun

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in such a halloween mood i've just been working on this fic a lot, so,,, i decided i might as well post the first chapter! i meant to make it a oneshot but it's escaping me (again) so it's not a multichapter idc.
> 
> this fic is loosely based on the "slasher" series - w/100% less seven sins storyline, but just as much murder. i didn't tag this as major character death bc the deaths will mostly be unimportant side characters, but if a lot of death isn't your thing i totally won't mind if you turn back now!! i won't be very graphic with my descriptions of violence, but i tagged it to be safe too! this is certainly not a very dark fic, but it does have its moments.
> 
> (+ i've decided to join the legion of fics writers who title their fics after song lyrics, it's been a long time coming lmao) 🖤🖤🖤

The blood is still warm.

It fills her lungs like air should—_suffocates_ her—and she grasps helplessly at her throat. Even though she knows there is no way it will disappear, she coughs and chokes at the same time in a vain attempt to breathe. It is, as always, a useless endeavor.

Her chest feels as though it’s going to physically burst open because of how harshly it’s heaving; her heart hammers; her hands are drowned in a sea of crimson that will never wash out.

And then she wakes up.

.

.

.

It’s as the bubblegum pop finally fizzles into low crackles of static that Lena speaks, for the first time since they’ve begun their drive:

“My mother was murdered here.”

The static is lowered. Kara casts a quick, uneasy glance in her direction, but otherwise stays silent.

“I know you already knew that,” Lena is compelled to add. “I just…can’t stop thinking about it.”

Kara shuts off the radio altogether. For a moment the silence is thick and stifling, interrupted only by the harsh rev of the car’s accelerator as they start uphill.

Then Kara breaks it. “If you want us to turn back, we can,” she offers slowly, as if they aren’t three hours into this drive.

“No.” Lena watches trees blur by, leans her head against the cool glass of the window and resists the urge to sigh. “I have to deal with it sooner or later, right?”

“You don’t have to deal with anything.”

“No, I do.” Lena glances right at Kara for a second, and tries to figure out whether the tightness of her expression is from the tricky roads or the situation at hand. “It’s my duty.”

“Your sense of self-sacrifice kills me, you know,” Kara says, though the fondness of her almost-smile betrays any feigned annoyance. “But you know I’ve always got your back. Even if I do think this is dumb.”

Despite herself, Lena feels the corners of her lips quirk up. “Oh, so you think this is _dumb_.”

“_Yes_, I do,” Kara huffs. “You don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t need to drive out to a rinky town to prove something.” 

“It’s your town too, if you’d remember,” Lena reminds her, but all Kara does is get quiet.

She’s been especially odd about coming back. Lena knows Kara has far more roots than she personally does, but it’s strange that every time she brings it up suddenly Kara closes off. The most she discloses is the sole reason she’s even going home is because of Lena, which only serves to confuse her further.

Lena tries the radio again. It produces nothing but more static, so she shuts it off almost immediately. 

“You know,” she says, “you didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

“And leave you alone?” Kara teases. She sounds like herself then, with a smile too wide to contain. “Who would drive you? You wouldn’t have made it two miles.”

“Your driving isn’t any better,” Lena retorts; as if on cue, Kara hits a pothole. Clearly, the universe is on her side today.

“Touché,” Kara laughs and suddenly it feels so much easier. 

There’s still an underlying—and undeniable—weird tension about where they’re heading. But there’s also a resigned understanding that they’re really doing this. They’ve committed.

Lena rests her head against her arm and continues to gaze pensively out the window for the next two hours. Kara is equally content with not making conversation; maybe she’s working through an internal struggle of her own.

And as trees melt into rural houses and clusters of factories, Lena wonders what her mother made of such a place.

(_She was…restless_, her father’d described her once. _She was prepared to take you and run away the first chance she got_. There had been sadness in his eyes then, right? Lena hadn’t imagined it?

At the time fifteen-year-old Lena had only stared up at the house her mother was murdered in and shivered. _I wish she would have_, she’d muttered, and had wondered where the sentiment came from.)

Sometimes she can’t help but wonder what would have happened. She’s no stranger to discontentment; if her mother had a plan to leave, surely she couldn’t have liked this town all that much. Surely there was a reason.

There must be something _Kara_ doesn’t like either. She’s far too tense, far more tense than Lena has ever seen her. If Lena were a bit more bold she would ask why, but she’s also afraid—afraid that if she pushes too hard Kara will walk away from this.

It’s like the saying. She can’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when she can’t afford to. She’ll just have to hope there will be no consequences in the long run.

The next sign of life is a chipped wooden billboard that reads _Now Entering Midvale_, and Lena watches it whizz by and imagines she’s just coming up for a visit. That this is just a roadtrip, just a summer endeavor.

_I’m coming to say goodbye, Mom_, Lena privately thinks. _I’m sorry I took so long to come. Forgive me._

Beside her, Kara begins to sing. “_There is a house_,” she whispers at first. _“In New Orleans…_”

Lena blindly reaches over to grasp Kara’s hand. Kara doesn’t acknowledge it, but she thumbs comfortingly over the back of Lena’s hand as her voice grows louder.

“_They call the rising sun…_”

.

.

.

It’s two stories high and much too large to warner anything beyond, “It’s big.”

“Yeah.” Kara takes the sunglasses off the top of her head and slides them onto the collar of her shirt, not-so-subtly glancing sideways at Lena to gauge her reaction. “Are you ready?”

Lena licks her dry lips and tries to nod. “Yes,” she says. “But can I…can I go in there first?”

“By yourself?” A crease between Kara’s brows forms. “I mean, if you’re sure.”

“I am.” She isn’t, actually, but Lena feels like she owes it to her mother.

Kara understands. She gives Lena a reassuring smile and stays in the truck; Lena is overcome with gratitude for a best friend like Kara.

“Just give me ten minutes,” she says, and steps out into the dust.

The property looks to be in poor shape. The grass is dead and yellow; the steps creak as Lena walks up to the door; the lock gives little resistance as she wrestles the rusty key into place.

When she cracks open the front door she’s rushed with a scent of stale air so overwhelming that she coughs into the crook of her arm. A cursory glance around the room shows her it’s a spacious, airy layout, with sun streaming in from windows overhead.

She takes a chance on the stairs next. They have more structural integrity than the porch steps at least, so she resolves to look at this through a more positive lens. Upstairs seems decent; she counts four large bedrooms and two bathrooms, which is good. The realtor won’t have a problem making a case for the amount of space this house has.

“What did you see in this house, Mom?” she murmurs as she runs her fingertips over the crackling wallpaper. “Did you even see it before dad bought it for us?”

She comes to a stop before the master bedroom eventually. Even then, she circles past it at least twice more before she gives in and pushes the door open.

From looks alone she would never guess its gruesome truth. There’s nothing that indicates her mother’s throat was slit while she slept, not even a scrap of evidence anyone lived here at all. Lena had expected as much, but her heart jackhammers in her chest anyway; it’s not really fear. But maybe it’s pretty close.

“Lena?” comes a familiar shout. “Where are you?”

At the sound of Kara’s voice she jerks back to reality. “I’m upstairs,” Lena shouts back; she swiftly exits the master just in time to meet Kara halfway.

“Hey.” Kara leans against the pillars beside the stairs, gazes at Lena carefully, so carefully, as she brushes errant strands of sun-kissed blonde hair behind her ears. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lena says, as flippant as she can manage. “It’s just a house.”

“Right,” Kara says, doesn’t press, as she tucks her hands into her pockets. “Should we…get dinner?”

“Yeah. Um. Let’s do that.” Lena is torn between being relieved and disappointed that Kara cut her exploration short. “And unpack after?”

“Sure.”

And they’re back to being _weird_ again.

.

.

.

They find a booth by the window, tucked away in the corner of the little diner that Kara swears is the best. It gives Lena a sense of de ja vu; that was the same promise Kara had uttered the first night they met.

(_This place is the best, I swear_, she’d said. _You won’t find a better hot dog stand in all of National City._

Lena had been annoyed—annoyed that Sam left her alone with _her_ college friend—but she had feigned a smile anyway. _Well, if you say so_, she’d played along, and had been startled at how brightly Kara had smiled.)

Since then it’s never been a question of how Kara fits into her life, but rather a question of _where_. Lena never gets tired of how easily they fit together, even now as they squeeze into the booth and knock their knees against each others’. Kara laughs, truly laughs for the first time all day, and Lena feels her resolve melt away.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Lena says gently.

Kara pauses mid-turn on a page of the menu. “Do…what?”

“You don’t—have to walk on eggshells around me,” Lena says. “I’m not made of glass, Kara. I’m a Luthor. I’ve survived far worse.”

“I don’t _walk on eggshells_ around you. I worry about you,” Kara scoffs. “Sue me for loving you, I guess.” She always throws the word love around too often; Lena doesn’t know what to make of it sometimes. It’s either said too dryly to be sentimental or so heartachingly _soft_, but no in-between. This undoubtedly falls under the former.

“Well, you’re being weird about it,” Lena says. “And I don’t appreciate it.”

“I’m not being weird about it. Who’s being weird? That’s,” a stint of awkward laughter, “that’s silly.”

Lena resists the urge to sigh. “Thank you, for proving my point,” she mutters. She picks up her menu to avoid Kara’s disappointed gaze, and asks, “So what’s good here?”

“Lena…”

“Unless you’re about to say you want us to pack and leave this instant, don’t say anything,” Lena says. “You’re going to ruin my first time at this… whatever this place is.”

Slowly, Kara seems to brighten. “Best burger place in the world,” she says. “You’ll see.”

“You’re going to have to prove it to me before I agree.”

“Challenge accepted.” Kara orders for the both of them; Lena doesn’t bother to fight for a side salad. When it comes to food, Kara insists on an authentic greasy dining experience and won’t be swayed. Lena has come to accept it without question.

It’s over gigantic burgers and an inhuman amount of fries that she finally decides to broach the topic of Kara’s uneasiness.

“So did you call your mom and tell her you’re back in town?” she asks.

“I did, yeah. I’m meeting her tomorrow for breakfast, if you want to come.” Kara has no qualms with talking about her mother, so clearly it can’t be that.

She tries another tactic. “Did you tell Alex?”

The effect is immediate; Kara stiffens. “Kind of,” she says, vaguely. “You know how she is.”

“Kara…you know you’re allowed to hate this place, right? I won’t feel guilty for dragging you along with me. Well, at least not _very_ guilty.”

“It’s not that,” Kara insists. “I just…want to help you. It doesn’t matter how I feel.”

“It _does_.” Lena grabs Kara’s hand tightly in hers. “Should I walk on eggshells around you now? We can both agree this situation isn’t ideal.”

“Yeah, sure, we can both agree on that.” Kara smiles sheepishly. “I just don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

Lena raises an eyebrow at her. “I’ve already burdened you with all of mine, haven’t I?” she says. “_Talk_ to me. You’re my best friend, you can tell me anything.”

The corners of her smile drop. “Alex is worried about me,” Kara admits. “She thinks I’m torturing myself on purpose or something. Or that I’m doing this out of some twisted sense of need.”

“Well are you?”

“No,” says Kara firmly. “No, I’m here for you. That’s it.”

“Okay. As long as you talk to me about it, if you want to,” Lena says.

“I will. Promise.” But Kara’s already distractedly poring over the menu and Lena knows that’s the last they’ll speak of it tonight.

.

.

.

“Did you know the stairs out back are rotting?”

They’ve been here three days and all Kara will do is survey every square inch of the house with such an unwavering dedication that Lena is starting to be concerned; when this question floats in through the screen door she almost wishes she could say no.

“I noticed it yesterday,” she says, setting aside the paperwork she’s been sorting through in favor of making her way to the doorway leading to the backyard. “I’ll hire a contractor to reconstruct them, don’t worry.”

Kara frowns. “Hiring someone will take ages,” she mutters, more to herself than Lena. “No one will be willing to drive all the way out to Midvale for a job like this. I’ll do it.”

“_You’re_ going to do it?”

“Yeah, I’ll start making a list of what we need. I’ll go to the hardware store tomorrow,” Kara says, crouching beside the steps in question. Even in the cooling early autumn air her cheeks are a rosy pink from the heat; there’s enough sweat beaded on her brow that she has to pause to wipe it off. “There’s no way we’ll sell this place if it looks like this.”

“_I_ will worry about selling this place,” Lena says. “You’re only supposed to be here for support. Think of it like a…a mini vacation.”

“I don’t need a vacation,” Kara scoffs. “Besides, I need something to keep me busy.” She _does_ seem borderline restless; Lena would imagine coming back home would inspire restlessness in anyone, but with Kara it seems as though the atmosphere is particularly stifling.

“Okay. If you really want to do it, be my guest,” Lena surrenders. She can’t deny Kara anything and she knows it. “I guess I can hold off on calling a realtor until you’re done.”

“That might be a while,” Kara says, resting her hands on her hips as she stares out into the yard. “I have to fix the front porch too. And maybe give every room a fresh coat of paint. Should we replace the floors? Would that be too much?”

“That would definitely be too much.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Kara assures her. “What are your plans tonight?”

Lena eyes Kara suspiciously. “Um. Nothing?”

“Would it be okay to have some old friends over? I know we have no furniture or anything, but we can always sit on the floor and have pizza.”

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever you want.” Lena crosses her arms, suddenly uncomfortable. “I think I’ll go try to find the key to the basement again.”

Kara nudges her glasses up her nose and nods faintly in agreement; she’s already enraptured by planning again, chewing on the edge of her bottom lip like she does when she’s in deep thought.

Lena resists the urge to touch her. It’s become a habit lately, worrying about Kara. Often she finds herself memorizing the lines of Kara’s face, aching to cup her face in her hands and—well she’s not really sure what she would do. But she would do _something_ to get rid of that heavy expression clouding an usually bright face.

So instead she swallows back any worry still caught in her throat. Makes herself leave. Heads back to the drawers stuffed to the brim with mail and other loose ends. Sorts through junk for hours. It’s all methodical and pointless and, really, just about what she needs right now.

By the time Kara rejoins her inside the sky is beginning to darken. “Hey,” she says, distractedly rolling down the legs of her cuffed jeans. “Any luck?”

“No. I think we’re better off breaking in,” Lena sighs, stretching her arms over her head and groaning when the muscles in her back protest. “When are your friends coming by?”

“Any minute.” Again, Kara’s attention is kept elsewhere. “Has the window always been broken?”

“Yes, it was like that when we got here,” Lena says. She clears her throat and tries again: “I’ll pack up my stuff then? And get out of your way?”

Somehow that snaps Kara back to reality. “What? No, no, you have to stay,” she says. “Please? I’d love for you to meet everyone.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“This is your house, it’s literally impossible to intrude,” Kara insists, and she’s not exactly _pouting_, but there’s a begging tilt of her head and a jutting of her lower lip and Lena’s a goner. “Come on, please? I’ll do anything.”

“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep,” Lena huffs. “_Okay_. Consider me persuaded.”

“Yes!” Kara hugs her quickly, so quickly, that Lena blinks once and it’s over. “I’ll call for the pizza.”

“And I’ll…” Lena gestures uselessly to the floor. “Lay out some blankets, I guess.”

Before she can get too far, Kara stops her with a soft, “Hey. You’re the best person I know, do you know that?”

“Just because I’m eating your pizza?” Lena tries to tease, but the seriousness in Kara’s expression gives her pause.

“Just in general,” Kara says, and when she smiles it’s sweet. “That’s all.”

Lena softens. “Okay,” she says, and her reply seems to satisfy Kara.

She almost says _you’re the best person I know, too_, but she chickens out.

.

.

.

“I’m picking up some groceries,” Lena says, shifting the bag on her shoulder to alleviate the ache from standing in one place too long. “You need to eat something _green_ every once in a while, you know. And before you say anything, green gummy bears don’t count!”

“I wasn’t going to,” Kara obviously lies. “Anyway, that’s not why I called.”

“Oh. Has something happened? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry! I was just calling to say I broke open the lock to the basement so we can start sorting through the stuff whenever you’re ready.”

Lena’s heartbeat quickens. “So there are…things of my mother’s down there?”

“Looks like it, yeah.”

“Wow, that’s—great. I-I know it could all be nothing but junk, but…”

“It’s something of hers,” Kara finishes the thought for her. “I know.”

A sound coming from behind suddenly alerts Lena of her surroundings. She’s not sure what it is, a crinkle of a bag or a shift of posture, but it gives her the sense she’s being watched.

“Well thank you, Kara. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back?” The line starts to ease up, and Lena gratefully moves forward to start unpacking her items onto the conveyor belt.

Beside her, a woman lays out her own meager purchase. She catches Lena’s eye and gives her a polite nod. Lena almost squints at her suspiciously because it makes no sense, but…this woman is _familiar_.

“Lena Luthor, right?” the woman catches on to the confusion Lena’s sure must be written all over her face. “Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“And by finally, you mean…” Lena says slowly.

“I’m Eliza. Kara’s told me so much about you.” A pause, and Eliza gives a sheepish laugh. “You are Lena Luthor, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ah, I am,” Lena says. “Sorry. _Eliza_?” The name sounds as vaguely familiar as Eliza’s face looks, but nothing clicks right away.

“Eliza Danvers,” Eliza clarifies. “I’m Kara’s mother.”

“Oh,” says Lena, dumbly, as reality finally sinks in. “Of course, it’s—so nice to meet you too.”

“You know, like I told her, if you two ever want to stay with me instead of…” Eliza trails off and smiles apologetically. “Well. I’d love to have the both of you.”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you,” Lena says. “But we don’t intend on staying long.”

Eliza laughs. “Kara said the same thing,” she marvels.

The line starts moving again, and Lena’s thankful for the excuse to look away. Eliza seems nice enough, but there’s something about the way she gazes at Lena so openly that it’s unsettling.

Before she can break away with her purchases, a hand on her elbow stops her. “It was great to meet you, Lena,” Eliza says kindly. “One of these days you have to come with Kara when she visits.”

“Sure,” Lena agrees without meaning it. “One day.”

She leaves as quickly as humanly possible afterwards. Eliza Danvers isn’t threatening, but the unnerving way she seems to stare into Lena’s soul is too much to handle.

Lena doesn’t tell Kara she met her mother. She doesn’t even know why she decides not to other than it feels right.

.

.

.

The basement is as bleak as she’d imagined it: cobwebs cover every square inch of the wall, a thick layer of dust blankets every odd box and stack of papers, and the singular grimy lightbulb does very little to illuminate the clutter.

From above she can hear the steady sounds of hammering as Kara works, and knowing she’s there is enough to give Lena the strength to push forward. She rolls up her sweater sleeves—a sweater she suspects is Kara’s, now that she thinks about it—and sets to work.

She doesn’t bother lugging the boxes upstairs for better lighting. She can make do without. She sorts through junk mail, old CDs, empty cigarette packages, and still…nothing meaningful. She had very low expectations going into this, but it’s harder than she could have ever anticipated after all.

A box tucked away on a makeshift shelf catches her attention. It’s in the darkest corner of the room; she has to shine a flashlight to really see it. When she brings it down, she is accosted by a cloud of dust that makes her drop the damn thing as she sneezes into her arm.

The faint hammering ceases. “Lena, are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Lena coughs. She has to repeat herself at least twice before the hammering, much slower than before, starts up again.

Lena scrambles for one of the letters. All of them are in envelopes with broken seals, and the random one she picks is no exception.

_Darling,  
I’ve broken the news to Lillian. She is resistant to the idea of a divorce, but I hope I will convince her to see reason in due time…_

She has to stop right there. Her father never divorced Lillian. But if he’d _wanted_ to, what could have stopped him?

_…Lex has not handled the news well. He isn’t speaking to me at the present. I have told him it’s no fault of Lillian’s, but he accuses me of trying to break up the family. I don’t regret it, of course…_

“He was going to move here with us, wasn’t he,” Lena whispers. “He was going to leave them. For _us_.” She can practically _feel_ her mother’s presence, as if she too is reading this letter with her. “But if that was true…why did you want to leave?”

The rest of the letters seem to also be from her father; the majority are lovingly worn, wrinkled as though they’ve been reread numerous times.

But there are a few mixed in scribbled on thick, coarse paper that give her pause. These are without envelopes, carefully bound together with a paper clip to keep from being separated. They start the same way—_darling_—but the similarities end there. They aren’t love letters. They’re…threats. And very detailed threats at that.

One line hits her the hardest. _We know about the girl_, it reads. _If you don’t want us to hurt her you’ll do as we ask_.

These letters must have gone unanswered, because each one Lena reads gets increasingly angry. As graphic as the ruin the mysterious sender threatened was, her mother clearly hadn’t dealt with these threats. Maybe she was too afraid. Maybe she wasn’t sure what to do.

Whichever the reason, it’s the bloodcurdling final line that makes Lena wonder if there’s more to these letters than meets the eye.

_It’s your life or your daughter’s now._

Lena tucks the letters away into the pile of things she’s keeping. Then, resisting the urge to shiver, she powers on.

.

.

.

“Didn’t I tell you it was great?” The wind whips hair all over her face, but Kara remains unbothered, grinning widely in Lena’s direction. “My dad used to bring me and Alex every weekend. Alex hated it.”

“And I’m sure she had her reasons,” Lena says, casting a dubious look at the boat bobbing in the water. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“Trust me on this, Lena,” Kara says, which is not the resounding _yes_ Lena had been waiting for. “It’s the perfect weather.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “This boat has a _motor_. Perfect weather is a moot point.”

“You’re ruining the sense of adventure.” Kara plunks a dorky fishing hat on her head, still beaming from ear to ear, and Lena has to hide a laugh behind her hand. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust _you_. This boat, on the other hand…”

“I’ll keep you safe, promise,” Kara says, and her voice is a little bit soft, a little bit earnest, and it’s what drives Lena to take her outstretched hand without another word.

She doesn’t even realize how it happens. One moment she’s all but throwing herself over Kara at the first sign of motion, and the next she’s clutching at Kara’s jacket collar staring up into her blue eyes. She’s never realized just _how_ blue they are.

“That was,” Lena sucks in a breath, “terrible. I want to leave.”

“But we haven’t even started!” Kara laughs, breaking the odd tension that only Lena seems to notice. “Come on, sit. I want to show you the cabin we used to stay in.”

“Is that supposed to entice me?” Lena quips, though of course she does sit (with much difficulty). 

“You’ll love it,” Kara says; she yanks the handle to start up the engine as she speaks, so distracted she nearly falls over at the lack of resistance.

The boat roars to life, and Kara throws a quick, proud grin in Lena’s direction as if to say _see? I got this._

She plops down beside the motor to angle it whichever way they’re going, and Lena watches Kara in her element and wonders what changed.

In Metropolis, the Kara she knows operates like any other woman in her shoes; she is direct, she is goal-orientated, but she knows how to get her hands dirty if necessary. Here she seems to fit in effortlessly, like she _belongs_ among the trees and the lake and nature. What could have sparked her decision to leave? What could have led to her giving this up?

Kara suddenly speaks, though if it’s because she caught Lena staring or some other reason is uncertain. “Jeremiah always used to tell me that his cabin was the jewel of Midvale,” she says. “I don’t know, he…he always said that if I brought someone home, he’d love to show them the cabin.”

The wistfulness in Kara’s voice makes Lena’s heart sink. “Not to, um, burst your bubble or anything, but I think he meant your boyfriend,” Lena says. “I’m probably not who he was envisioning.”

Kara waves her hand as if she’s physically batting the idea away. “You’re more important than a boyfriend. You’re my best friend,” she says. Then, fainter, “I know Jeremiah would’ve loved you.”

Risk of falling be damned, Lena shakily gets to her feet and squeezes Kara’s shoulder comfortingly. “I would have loved to meet him.”

From then on there’s nothing but silence between them, silence that of course does not refer to their surroundings; somewhere birds squawk and fly, and the motor hums, and wind whistles through the trees like a warning.

The trip to the cabin doesn’t take much longer. Kara ties the boat to a makeshift dock that’s definitely seen better years, and Lena all but has to be carried out because she’s too afraid one misstep will mean falling two feet into icy water. Kara is a very good sport about it, though. She makes a point to keep her hands on Lena’s waist until Lena shakily assures her she’s fine now.

Kara leads her up the path towards the cabin, keeping one hand tightly clasped in Lena’s—whether for her sake or Lena’s is unclear—but when they arrive she stops. Lena glances at her out of the corner of her eye and recognizes the tell-tale signs of grief written over her face; the crinkle between her eyebrows, the thinned lips, the trembling of the corner of her mouth.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

Caught off-guard, Kara turns to meet her gaze. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, of course.”

“I saw you first,” Lena says. “I remember…Sam told me to look for a yellow scarf. I thought it was so vague, and then when I walked into the bar and saw you I _knew_ she was setting me up.” Carefully, she reaches her hand up to trace the crinkle of Kara’s brow, and laughs, quietly, as she continues: “You looked worried like this then.”

It takes a second, but Kara’s expression melts into a smile. “I thought something happened with Ruby,” she says. “Sam wasn’t answering my texts, and I was just about to leave to find her…” She trails off. “I remember the first time I saw you. You looked so _annoyed_.”

“I _was_ annoyed!” Lena revels in the way Kara’s smile grows, in the way she relaxes enough that her arm brushes against Lena’s. “I marched right up to you and told you I wasn’t interested in a date, remember? And when you looked at me all confused…”

“Sam really got the best of us that night,” Kara chuckles. “Joke’s on her. I got a best friend out of it.” She lets go of Lena’s hand in favor of squeezing her in an one-armed hug. “Sorry if I look…like that right now. I just haven’t been here for ages, and now—”

“It’s a lot,” Lena says. “I know.”

“It is really cool though. You’ll love it.”

“Keep making promises like that and one day you’ll let me down.”

“I’d never let you down,” Kara says, and without warning, takes Lena’s hand again. “It would just mean you have terrible taste, that’s all.” She seems more much cheery, so Lena bites back any other teasing reply and lets herself be led up to the cabin after only a halfhearted roll of her eyes.

The funny thing is Lena _does_ love the cabin. Not the gross smell of rotting wood, no. And definitely not the creepy horror movie feel of the broken shutters on the windows either.

But the way Kara reacts to it makes it one of the best places in the world. Kara shows her the room she and Alex used to stay in, and they sit together on Kara’s bed and laugh at the rock collection still stashed underneath. Then Kara tells her about the last time she was here, how she’d felt too old for it but had played hide-and-seek with Alex in the woods anyway.

“Alex used to scare me by pretending she was hurt,” Kara recalls, casually tossing a piece of quartzite from hand to hand. “I would be running deeper and deeper into the woods trying to find her and then she’d scream—nearly gave me a heart attack every time.”

“That sounds,” Lena tries to find a word to describe it, but can’t, “kind of mean.”

“It was mean then. But now it’s kind of funny.” Kara leans against the headboard and flips the rock higher in the air. “She could never find me. She used to say she thought I could fly because I would climb the trees so high she couldn’t see me if she tried.”

“You sound like you were a wild child, Kara Danvers,” Lena teases, and Kara laughs, soft and wistful at once.

“Some people would call that adventurous, actually,” she says. “Gosh, it was such a long time ago. I can’t believe I’m here again.”

Lena watches Kara roll the rock between her fingers and doesn’t know what to make of it. Kara doesn’t seem to be happy about being here, but she isn’t sad either. Just...somewhere in between, like there are memories surfacing that she can’t work out for herself just yet.

It’s what makes Lena keep quiet about the letters she found, even though she’s been itching to bring it up. Kara definitely has enough on her plate.


	2. sweet dreams (are made of this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s halloween season so i figure i need to keep updating this right? thank you all so much for your kind words last chapter! i cry 💕 
> 
> according to my sister this story needed “100% more murder” so i’m working on that—also trying to actually edit this fic for once in my life after i write, so forgive me if there’s still errors lol

“So I’ve talked to the sheriff of the police department. He’s agreed to let me look at all the case files, evidence, pretty much everything that concerns my mother’s death. Well,” and here, she tucks her phone against her ear, “when I say I talked isn’t very accurate. I let my money do the talking.”

Lena is so preoccupied with unlocking the door to the house that she almost doesn’t register the lengthy pause. Then,

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Lena? What if it makes you upset?”

“I’m a big girl, I can handle some old paperwork. You know that.” The front door always groans when she yanks it open; she makes a mental note to bring it up with Kara, if she’s still determined to fix every loose end in this house. “I’m just curious about what these letters mean. That’s all.”

“I’d wager those letters can’t mean anything good.”

“I’ve gathered _that_ much, thanks,” Lena says. “It’s definitely not the killer’s M.O., which is why it doesn’t seem right to me. Wouldn’t you think these letters would be with the rest of their case evidence? There has to be a reason why they aren’t.”

“It could just be an incompetent police department.”

“Or it could be a police cover-up,” Lena says, waving at Kara as she passes her in the kitchen; Kara waves back, and points at the food she’s eating, which means she probably got too hungry to wait for Lena to come home before calling for takeout. “Either way, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Is that wise? Lena, you’re dealing with so much already. I thought you said selling the house was already a pain. Now you’re going to, what, go on a wild goose chase for a killer who’s already in prison?”

“I just want answers,” Lena says. “That’s all. Don’t _worry_ about me, Lex. You know I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“I wish I was there with you,” Lex says. “You don’t need to be going through this alone.”

“I’m not. I have Kara,” Lena reminds him. “She’s a much better companion anyway. _You_ wouldn’t know where to go in a place like this, Mr. I-need-hot-towels-every-morning-before-work.”

“Hey, I’m a man who knows what I want! That’s why I’m here in France drinking expensive scotch and you’re in the middle of nowhere eating ramen every night.”

“Oh my God, that was _once_.”

Lex laughs and it sounds like home. “Well, good luck with your sleuthing,” he says. “Maybe you should give me Kara’s number so I can convince her to help me talk you out of it.”

“Not a chance. She’s on my side no matter what,” Lena tells him matter-of-factly, but all he does is laugh again.

“I’ll bet,” he chuckles. “Give her my best. Call me again soon?”

“Of course.” Lena bids him goodbye and reenters the kitchen; Kara is waiting for her with a question in her eyes and a box of chow mein.

“Lex?” she guesses as she offers a fork. Apparently tonight is a no-plates-necessary kind of deal.

“He’s settling in at his hotel,” Lena says, accepting both the carton and the plastic fork (since it must be a no-dishwashing-necessary deal as well). “And day drinking, because he’s Lex.”

“Like brother like sister,” Kara jokes. She gets a noodle flung at her head for that, but she happily eats it as it falls onto her chin. “So how goes the real estate business?”

“Very slow, because I have yet to find a real estate agent willing to attach themselves to a house that you won’t let me show,” Lena says. “Can’t we just sell the house as is? I’m sure there’s some desperate murder conspiracist who would love an old, charming home someone died in.”

“You have to trust me here, Lena! We can’t just sell your house to some random weirdo. Besides, it’s all about reimagining this space, right?” Kara nudges her foot under the table.

Lena sighs. “_Yes_,” she begrudgingly admits. “Though I didn’t know it would come at the expense of my sanity.”

“That’s dramatic, even for you,” Kara says. After another heaping mouthful she says, “So…I have a question.”

“What?” Lena digs into the half-eaten chow mein container. It’s comforting to know that even in trying times, Kara’s appetite remains the same.

“I know we talked about staying in Midvale a month, tops, but I was wondering…”

The hopeful lilt to Kara’s voice gives her pause. “Wondering…what?” Lena asks carefully.

“If we stayed a bit longer? I’ve talked to my boss and she’s okay with it.” Kara’s expression is guarded, but a sliver of hope shines through anyway. “But only if it’s okay with you. And your job, of course.”

“So you _want_ to stay?” Lena lowers a forkful of broccoli to study Kara—everything from the look on her face to her guarded body language. “Where’s this coming from?”

“It’s…well, it’s home,” Kara says, blinks, like she’s startled Lena even asked. “Why wouldn’t I want to stay longer?”

“Yeah, no, of course.” Lena quickly picks her fork back up. “I just thought…since you said you wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for me…”

Kara’s expression becomes pained. “I was,” she hesitates, “I don’t know. Overthinking everything.” She shakes her head, next, and becomes extremely engrossed in her dinner. “Forget I asked.”

“Kara—”

“This trip _is_ for you—”

“_Kara_,” Lena repeats. “I was going to ask you if we could stay longer too.”

Kara blinks. “Really?”

“Yes, I think—I think I need more time to say goodbye.” It’s not _entirely_ a lie. Lena could use the extra insurance of a few more days to explore the ins and outs of her mother’s case.

But somehow she doubts Kara has the same motive.

In fact, with every passing day Kara seems to retreat into herself. There’s an element of mystery to the madness, but no method that Lena can discern. It’s weird. Lena can’t remember a time she could look at Kara and _not_ understand her. Not since they first met.

She won’t say anything about it, of course. Midvale seems to just have that effect.

.

.

.

It isn’t until someone snaps her picture that Lena realizes she really doesn’t understand Midvale at all.

“Excuse me,” she says sharply, “what do you think you’re doing?”

The photographer lowers his camera in a manner that is, at least, apologetic. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m James Olsen, with _The Daily Planet_. I help chase stories.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re stalking me.”

“My boss has been pressuring me for a story about you,” James Olsen admits, and he plays the honest reporter well, all things considered. “I’m sorry about the—well, all of it. I didn’t want us to meet this way.” Belatedly, he holds out his hand. “Hi. I’m a friend of Kara’s.”

“A friend of Kara’s doesn’t make you any friend of mine,” Lena snaps; she’s at her wit’s end, _exhausted_ with all the dead ends she’s hit today and this stranger following her on her walk home is not helping.

James slowly pulls his hand back to his side. “Of course, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Keep my name out of your press, James Olsen,” Lena says. “I have no interest in being a clickbait headline today.”

She quickens her pace. James has the sense not to follow, at least.

When she gets to the house she’s all but shaken the encounter off; Kara is gone, so she can’t even ask who this James Olsen person is or why his boss would care about her name.

She starts making dinner while she waits for Kara. Since their decision to stay longer they’ve made the house into a makeshift home; Kara swears that, when they’re ready, they’ll get rid of everything and stay with Eliza for two weeks to actually sell the place. But only when they’re ready.

It means, well, that Lena has a pot to cook chicken soup for tonight. Or an attempt at chicken soup. Kara will eat it either way.

And when Kara does arrive, she’s wearing paint-splattered clothing and shaking her hair out of a baseball cap. “Hey,” she says, casting an amused look at Lena curled up on the couch with a blanket (or two). “Heating still isn’t working?”

“No. It’s your fault,” Lena says. “I think you jinxed us yesterday when you said the nights were warming up.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” Kara says, squeezing up beside her with a satisfied grin. “Wait. We should have dinner first.”

“I made dinner. Soup’s probably still warm.”

“You’re the best. Have I told you that lately?” Kara sighs, wiggling sideways so she can press even closer. She smells like drying paint and the night air; it’s a calming scent. “How was your day?” she asks.

“Interesting,” Lena replies decidedly. “But I’m sure you can imagine why.”

Kara winces. “Yeah, James told me he met you today. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It was fine.” Lena focuses on the book she’s been reading since dinner—the one she hasn’t made any substantial progress on because she’s been itching to go back down to the basement all day.

“He's a great guy,” Kara says. “Really. Just a little by the books, you know.”

“I can tell,” Lena says shortly. “I really don’t care about James, Kara. Don’t worry.”

“I know, but—I _do_ worry. Not just about you,” Kara clarifies. “I worry that everyone sees you as a story and not the wonderful person you are.”

“You know, a lot of people already _do_ see me as a story,” Lena reminds her, leaning her head back to study the pinched expression forming on Kara’s face. 

Another funny thought about how blue Kara’s eyes are come to mind. Lena has spent years knowing what Kara looks like—has done so to the point where she could easily pick her out of a crowd—but for some reason she’s been lingering on the details. The crinkle of her brow is suddenly so familiar and foreign at once that she’s almost compelled to reach out and trace it with her fingertips.

As quickly as the urge comes it passes. If Kara notices this odd lapse of judgement, she doesn’t indicate she has.

“That’s what sucks,” Kara says. “You’re more than just Lena Luthor. Really, more than—your name is what I mean.”

Despite herself, Lena smiles. “I know. You tell me that all the time.”

“Because you refuse to believe it!”

Without prompting, Lena leans in and hugs her. It’s an awkward angle with her book still between them, but she can’t resist. She’s just so _grateful_ for Kara. Grateful that she’s not here alone, but mostly grateful she has such a good friend.

“You’re my favorite,” she mumbles against Kara’s shoulder.

She feels Kara squeeze her closer. “You’re my favorite too,” she whispers back. “Especially since you cooked.”

“You might want to hold off on thanking me until you taste it,” Lena jokes, but she basks in the validation all the same.

This routine of theirs is becoming more and more familiar. After years of living alone, Lena thinks she should be alarmed how much she likes having a roommate; it’s going to be hard once they get back to Metropolis and she has to get used to living without Kara all over again.

Lena observes Kara for a minute. She’s still curious about why Kara left Midvale; not for a career in real estate, surely. She’s never even liked her job enough for that.

Even in an empty, dreary house like this, Kara manages to maintain a natural sunniness that’s integral to her character. She’s puttering around the kitchen now, heating up the soup in a small saucepan and singing some Nirvana song as her socked feet slide against the hardwood floor.

Lena lets her eyes drift shut and only focuses on Kara’s voice. Somehow it never ceases to relax her.

.

.

.

Something that doesn’t change, even in a town in the middle of nowhere? Money. It’s a powerful tool.

It’s also why Lena gets her hands on her mother’s autopsy report. The detective who handed it over—a surly Mr. Johnson—had squinted at her suspiciously and asked if he knew her. Lena had replied that she just had one of those faces.

She is recognized very little out here and that’s how she’d like to keep it. James Olsen and his band of media misfits have yet to run anything, which is both a relief and a cause for suspicion. 

If anyone knew about what she was doing…she shakes her head to herself. She would surely face a media storm for that.

“Journal entry one,” Lena announces to the empty house. “Cause of Lutessa Mercer’s death, as reported: fatal injury obtained to neck. Head nearly decapitated. It is not a good prognosis for the case of her killer.” She’s studied this killer extensively. She _knows_ him. And frankly, this doesn’t seem like his work.

“Preliminary report of the scene indicates there were no witnesses. Blood was reportedly found splattered all over the wallpaper, bed, and even the floor. There was no sign over struggle.” 

She hits pause. It’s a lot harder than she anticipated, to read about it. In the articles she’d read she found out that her mother died in her sleep, but this—it’s sickening. Such a gruesome act done, and at a time where her mother was powerless to do anything about it. It’s a move only a coward would execute.

And, as much as she wishes she could deny it, the thought gives her chills; this killer was weak, but ruthless.

Well. Perhaps not _too_ ruthless, considering they left the baby sleeping in the nearby bassinet alone. Lena wonders more than anything if her life was a mistake; if she was meant to die along with her mother; if her livelihood is due to a killer who either didn’t have the time or the energy to kill her too.

She turns on her phone again. “First respondents on the scene recovered a baby,” she reads on, ashamed to say her voice quivers. “Estimated one year old. Unharmed.” 

And she goes on like that for the rest of the afternoon.

By nightfall she’s exhausted of gore. Her voice is hoarse enough that she fixes a cup of tea to soothe it and sits at the kitchen counter so that she might stare into nothing. She’s _spooked_, which is not an easy feat for anyone—much less a person she knows nothing about—to accomplish.

When Kara noisily makes her way inside it’s a damn relief. “Lena, are you awake?” she whisper-shouts her arrival.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Lena calls, and resists the urge to remind Kara that it’s barely 7 pm. 

Kara comes bursting in the room with a bag full of groceries. “My mom insisted,” she explains, already beginning to sort through the collection of fruits and vegetables into piles—ones she will eat, and ones Lena will have to eat when she doesn’t touch them.

Lena watches her do this for a long moment. Then, for reasons she can’t explain, she is absolutely compelled to say, “Kara?”

“Yeah?” Kara replies, still engrossed with the food.

“Why did you ever leave Midvale?”

Kara’s hands stop moving. “I needed a change, that’s all,” she says, then carefully resumes her task.

“That’s it? That’s your story?”

“Um.” Kara wipes her hands off on her shirt, then nudges her glasses up a fraction with her knuckle. “Did you expect a different story?”

“Maybe,” Lena admits. “This place seems to fit you more than Metropolis does.”

“What makes you say that?” But Kara doesn’t say so defensively. She smiles, amused, and then picks three large potatoes from the food-she’ll-eat pile to wash.

“Like…the cabin. You love being outdoors and working with your hands and—” Lena stops, suddenly feeling very foolish. “I’m sorry. Am I prying?”

“You’re my best friend. You can pry as much as you want,” Kara says, but her smile fades. “It’s not a big deal, though. I think my choice to leave was pretty much like anyone who leaves Midvale. I needed to get away to make something of myself.”

“And you couldn’t be something here,” Lena guesses.

“Well, James and I always talked about going into the newspaper business together, but I can’t imagine it now—me, a writer? There’s no money in that.”

Lena rummages through the drawers to find a potato peeler. “You’ve never talked about money,” she notes. “Is it an issue?”

Kara shrugs. “I send money home to Eliza,” she says. “It’s always been a whole thing.”

“You never told me that either.” Lena moves to stand beside Kara, pretends she’s engrossed in Kara’s preparations; it helps, she finds, to hide her disappointment over how little she really knows about Kara’s life before Metropolis.

“It’s not really something I try to advertise.” Kara snags her finger in the peeler and swears. “_Shit_. Did we buy band-aids?”

Lena is already off like a shot. “Don’t move!” she calls back, guilt twisting in her gut. Clearly she’s touched a nerve, and here she is, pushing when Kara has always respected her own boundaries.

She ends up being the one to tenderly clean Kara’s finger off with a damp washcloth, mopping up the blood as gently as possible. Kara doesn’t flinch when she disinfects it, but she does frown. Afterwards Lena wraps the wound in a dinosaur band-aid—the silliest from the pack—just so that frown will leave.

“Thanks,” Kara says, playfully crooking her index finger to make the dinosaur bob up and down. “I’m sorry, you know. That I didn’t tell you about needing to send money home.”

“I don’t mind that you didn’t tell me.” They’re still in the bathroom; the marble sink digs into Lena’s hip, cold even through her clothes. Kara’s face is inches from hers and Lena has only _just_ realized.

“It seemed like it bothered you,” Kara says quietly. “Did it?”

“I told you I don’t mind. That’s your business.” Lena takes a step back but only shifts harder against the sink, shirt inadvertently creeping up to press a sliver of bare skin against the marble instead. “I’m just tired, I think. _I’m_ sorry if I seemed—I don’t know. Weird.”

“Okay.” Kara, too, puts some space between them. “So…should we finish dinner?”

“Sure.” Lena breathes easier once Kara is out of her general proximity. She wonders very, very briefly what that means before she decides to ignore it. “What were you trying to make, anyway?”

“Mashed potatoes, duh.” Kara waits by the doorway of the kitchen, smiling dorkily, and there’s that odd feeling again, hammering inside Lena’s chest like a drum.

“Let me finish peeling them, then,” Lena says, nudging her inside and squashing the feeling as quickly as it comes. “The last thing we need is your blood in the mixture.”

“Hey!”

“You know I’m right,” Lena says, snatching the potato peeler before Kara can get her hands on it. “You can be on butter duty.”

They make dinner, laugh, and don’t say anything else about Midvale, money, or whatever is going on between them. Lena is unsure whether that’s a good thing or not.

.

.

.

Classifying life as _before_ and _after_ has always been inevitable.

Before everything Lena used to like people-watching. It was easy to remain on a park bench for hours, book in hand, and silently observe the hubbub of city evenings. Now that she can’t do that in National City, she revels in the opportunity to do so in Midvale.

Lena wears wide-rimmed sunglasses and turns a page in her book without reading it. It’s _Frankenstein_, a lovingly worn copy that actually belongs to Kara, and a novel Lena never reads anymore because she has listened to Kara read from it for so long that she knows the story inside and out.

Being moderately famous has always been a nuisance more than anything else. Before the fame Lena could stroll the parks with Kara and even get her to do some people-watching of her own; Kara has a way of sussing out peoples’ intentions, for better or for worse. Lena quite enjoys hearing what Kara makes of the park goers and their lives. But since they haven’t done that in a while, Lena is a bit out of practice—she can’t make out anything of the few people outside today.

Maybe it’s another aspect of Midvale: everyone is so deeply, fiercely private.

A dog comes around sniffing at Lena’s ankles, and she shifts her shoe away. A sheepish child herds away the German Shepherd with a shy apology thrown over his shoulder, and Lena gives him an acknowledging smile. She wonders if she sticks out like a sore thumb in this crowd full of small families, even if she is dressed more casually than she has in months. No one seems to give her a second glance, though, so it might be they’re used to the odd types.

If Midvale like this when her mother was alive, Lena imagines her mother sitting here too. Maybe her mother liked to spend time in parks, maybe she didn’t. Lena wonders what her mother liked to do in _her_ free time.

A few teenagers on skateboards screech past. The German Shepherd barks at them, loud enough to startle a baby toddling towards their mother. Lena drops her gaze back to the pages of _Frankenstein_.

_Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it_. She lingers on that piece of dialogue for a moment. Lets it ruminate. _I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous_.

Lena closes the book and stands. Kara is probably home by now, and what a funny concept, that—they have made a home for themselves here. It takes fifteen minutes to reach the house, and Lena spends every one in deep, silent thought.

When she steps inside Kara makes an announcement: “I have good news.”

“Great, I could use some good news,” Lena says, shrugging off her coat to place it on the coat rack—another impulse buy to make this place more hospitable. She’s not sure what they’re going to do with all this furniture when they leave. 

“The heating is officially fixed,” Kara says. “_And_ the window is, too. The steps might take a little while, but I’ll get them eventually.”

“You don’t have to take on all these fix-it jobs, you know,” Lena reminds her. “I’m sure we can find a real estate agent who’s willing to take a small payday as long as it’s quick.”

“You forget that I’m an _expert_ in real estate,” Kara says. “And in my expert opinion, those people are the complete opposite of experts.”

“Since when do you call yourself an expert?”

“Since…now,” Kara says. She’s sitting at their makeshift kitchen table—which is really just a fold-out table for outdoors—with numerous papers strewn about. “Not to brag, but I’m pretty good at selling houses. Once a lady told me I had a very kind face. I think that’s what sells them.”

“I think it’s far more likely people have trouble saying no to you,” Lena says. “It’s very hard to disappoint you, you know. It’d be like…disappointing a baby.”

“That is a terrible analogy.”

“It’s a simile, to be specific.” Lena shakes out her hair from a ponytail, feels the relief now that her scalp can breathe. “What are you up to tonight?”

Kara flips a page over, squinting at the lettering as if her glasses aren’t hanging off her shirt. “Being sentimental,” she says. “Eliza let me take some old yearbooks and stuff from my room. I can’t believe she kept all that junk.”

“Taking a trip down memory lane, then?” Lena peers over Kara’s head for a peek. “Are you going to show me your embarrassing photos?”

“No way!” Kara elbows Lena away, but laughingly, in a manner that suggests she’ll cave anyway. “Go eat dinner. I made pasta.”

“_You_ cooked?” Lena raises a skeptical eyebrow even if Kara isn’t looking. “Is it edible?”

“It’s edible _enough_.”

“And that is supposed to convince me?” Nevertheless, Lena takes out the plate waiting in the microwave.

When she looks up again Kara has fallen completely somber. Her expression is pained, as if she is on the edge of tears; she is captivated by something on a yearbook page that Lena can’t see from so far.

“Kara?” she ventures to say. “Is everything alright?”

Kara’s head snaps up. “What?” she clears her throat hastily.

“Are you okay?” Lena repeats, but Kara is nodding before she even gets the last word out.

“Yeah, definitely. Just—dust. Allergies,” Kara says, attempting a smile that doesn’t work out. “Uh. I think I’m going to head to bed early. Do you mind?”

“No, that’s fine.” Lena watches as Kara gathers all the mementos off the table and into a box, and decides not to bring up the fact that Kara has no allergies.

Kara stops at the doorway, hoisting the box higher up in her arms. “Oh, shoot, before I forget,” she says. “You left your phone here and some guy called for you? I-I normally wouldn’t have picked up your phone, because, boundaries! But he called like, fifteen times, so…I thought maybe it was an emergency, or you were waiting for a message…”

“Who called?” Lena thinks of her manager. If the network has changed their mind about letting her take off a few months she knows it will be a very tiring call to return—grief apparently is not a good enough reason to quit, and this had been the compromise.

“A Mr. Johnson,” Kara replies unsurely. “Is he the new PA guy?”

Johnson…Johnson. He’s the cop who Lena had bribed to get her mother’s official death report—she can’t imagine why on Earth he’s calling. Lena very carefully schools her expression into the most nonchalant neutrality.

“Probably. I can never keep track of who Edge hires,” Lena lies. “Did he leave a message?” 

“No, he was just insistent that you call him back.” Kara takes a step out, then pauses once more. “Was it the right call, to answer your phone? You can tell me to buzz off if it’s weird.”

Lena smiles. Kara’s idiosyncrasies—like her use of outdated slang—are far more endearing than they have a right to be. “I don’t mind,” she tells her. “Thank you.” She’s lucky that Johnson has better sense than to spill to strangers about Lena’s affair, but otherwise she really _doesn’t_ mind. If the truth were to come to light, she likes to imagine she can trust Kara.

As consumed with thoughts about Kara as she is, Lena forgets to call Johnson that night. She only remembers when she’s getting into bed later that night, and resolves to drop by the station sometime next week to make up for it.

_Oh, praise the eternal justice of man._

.

.

.

The same dream keeps coming back.

There is blood in her mouth, hot and metallic, so thick it coats her tongue even after she spits it out. When she throws up the taste lingers in her mouth; she gags against a cold floor, a floor that might be made of jagged stone, wheezing puffs of air against its ridges. She tries her hardest not to slip into unconsciousness but it is a trying endeavor; already her eyelids sag, weighted and itching.

When her ribs splinter against her skin, jagged bone ripping flesh harshly, the pain takes a moment to register—much less to notice. She gasps wetly, feels the blood drip down her chin as she tries to claw back her insides. Her forehead presses against the floor, each crack etching a new scar into her skin. She is not dead just dead yet. She is _alive_, but barely so.

Every stab of pain dances up her spine like electricity, webbing out into a full-bodied tremor. Her hands fall from her gut to the floor and her palms, slick with blood, cannot support her weight any longer—she crumbles, feels the striations of the floor scratch up her cheek. She tries to open her mouth but the blood is still there, still hanging on, in the back of her throat.

And with that she wakes up.

The sound of a creaking floorboard is what snaps Lena to reality. Goosebumps erupt on her skin and she’s not thinking, not at all, as she scrambles among her sheets for any semblance of a weapon. “Who's there?” she shouts, voice hoarse. “Don’t you dare come any closer!”

“It's me! Hey, hey, it's me.” A shadowy figure in the dark morphs into a half-asleep Kara standing in her doorway. “I heard you screaming.”

Lena’s shoulders sag. “Kara. I'm sorry, I don't—I don't usually—” She gulps, but even the cool inhale of air cannot erase the feeling of phantom blood clogged in her throat. “Usually there's no one to hear me scream.”

“Was it a nightmare?” Kara leans against the door. It’s too dark to see her expression, but the concern weighing down her voice speaks volumes.

Lena swallows. “Yes, I…get them sometimes. I'm sorry I woke you.”

“It’s not your fault. This house has a crazy echo.” Kara hesitates. “Can I get you some water? Anything?”

“No. No, go back to sleep,” Lena says. She feels foolish, tangled blankets twisted around her hands as the reality of this episode sinks in. “But thank you.”

“If you’re sure.” However, Kara stubbornly stays put. “Do you get nightmares often?”

“Not often, just—occasionally. It’s not a big deal,” Lena says. She smooths out her pillow and tries to smile reassuringly even though Kara can’t see her. “Please go back to sleep. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kara says. “Maybe…” She trails off. “Maybe I can stay? With you?”

“Stay with me…here?”

“Yeah. Would that be okay?” Kara doesn’t move an inch, only remains waiting, and Lena shakily exhales.

“Yes,” she admits, ashamed that it comes out tearfully. “I would like that very much.”

It’s a strange thing, to have Kara in her bed. Even stranger is the warmth of her body beside Lena’s, the tickle of her breath against Lena’s lips. Kara’s hand rests easily, comfortingly, on Lena’s arm and eventually the nightmare is nothing more but a distant memory.

They lay like that—facing each other—and it doesn’t feel weird. Kara closes her eyes first, eyelashes fluttering faintly in the darkness, and the sight makes Lena relax.

“Kara?” she whispers.

Kara doesn’t open her eyes, but she replies all the same: “Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here. Not just _here_, but in Midvale. I'm…I'm just so lucky to have you.” Now it’s Lena’s turn to wait with baited breath, but she’s not left waiting long.

“Of course I'm here. I'll go anywhere with you, you know that.” Kara smooths her hand over Lena's jaw and tugs her close; Lena all but melts into the touch, burying her face into Kara's chest. “I'm not going anywhere. I will always be here for you when you need me.”

“I think I'll always need you.”

“Then I'm here for you forever,” Kara breathes against her hair, sleepy and warm, and unexpected tears spring to Lena's eyes.

“You promise?”

“Mm-hm.”

.

.

.

On the chilly morning of August 30th, 2019, officer Mr. Johnson’s body is found outside the police station.

His corpse is very neatly, and very cleanly, decapitated.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 🎃🖤


	3. secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh i meant to update this around halloween but i DIDNT and so here i am, like a Fool, a month later. i'm so sorry about that :// but hey at least this way the halloween vibes will remain even when it's NOT october so really...this is intentional & no one can prove otherwise
> 
> this will probably be my last proper piece of writing for the year, but i am working on two secret santa fics and i am SO excited for the both of them - i've been working pretty steadily on them both, which is fun. so happy holidays yall! enjoy some more slasher-esque vibes & thank you all SO MUCH for reading. i know this fic isn't everyone's cup of tea, and the response i've gotten for it warms my heart sm. 
> 
> big big WARNING for this chapter - the ending scene is not v graphic, but it has its moments where it can be hard to read if you don't like suspense. be safe! ❤️

The next time Lena sees James Olsen he is fundamentally different.

He is stoic, grim, as he snaps pictures from afar; even the click of Lena’s high heels on the pavement do not dissuade him.

Lena slows at the sight of him anyway. “Mr. Olsen,” she says. “What are you doing?”

“My job, Ms. Luthor,” replies James without missing a beat. “It calls for some…discretion.”

“Is _that_ the reason you’re hiding out in these bushes? And here I was under the impression all photographers simply prefer immersive tactics.” The weak joke does not lighten the dark expression on James’s face. Lena sighs. “Look, I’m here to apologize.”

“I don’t need an apology.” James straightens up. “And if you expect me to apologize for trying to get a story from you, you don’t have to worry. I’m apparently not reporter material.”

Lena raises an eyebrow at the dejection in his tone. “Well, will you settle for accepting my apology first? I was quite rude to you.”

“Like I said, I don’t need an apology.” James slings his camera close to his chest. “But thank you, Ms. Luthor.”

Lena observes him a second longer and is struck, briefly, to ask, “Why are you taking pictures of the police department? Surely there’s more news outside of it.”

“I’m not at liberty to speak about it,” James says. He leaves with a crisp nod in her direction, obviously troubled; Lena stands alone on the sidewalk for far longer than necessary watching him go.

Something isn’t adding up. When she crosses the street to approach the precinct, her suspicions prove truthful—she is met with yellow tape and a polite suggestion to return some other time.

Reality still takes another minute to sink in. “Is this a crime scene?” Lena asks, and the policewoman blocking her way gives her a tight-lipped smile.

“Ma’am, no civilians are allowed within thirty yards. That’s all I can say.”

The rule doesn’t seem to stop the press. Unlike James, they’re clamoring at the yellow tape with recorders and cameras and notepads flying. It is a grotesque sight that Lena knows more than anyone.

Lena tightens her coat and briskly sets on her way. Or she _tries_, until someone stumbles in her path.

“Sorry! Sorry,” an out-of-breath voice announces. The young woman she’d nearly crashed into hugs her bag to her chest, already jumping backwards. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. Oh, did I say that already?”

“I’m fine,” Lena says, politely sidestepping the stranger to continue on her way.

“Great, that’s—wait. Are you Lena Luthor?” The woman’s jaw drops. No exaggeration there, at all; it is a curious reaction to say the least. “Wow. Um. Hi, I’m, I’m—kind of a _fan_? That is so embarrassing to say.”

“No, that’s alright,” Lena laughs it off, privately feeling a bit awkward to be recognized. “Thank you. That’s very flattering.”

“Sorry, you must be busy, I’ll…” the woman gestures vaguely in the direction of the precinct. “Actually get to work.”

“You work at the station?” Lena asks, straightening up her posture just a bit.

The stranger sheepishly tugs at her lanyard. “No, actually, I’m a journalist with the Daily Planet. First day on the job. Real great start, huh?” She flushes immediately after. “I’m talking too much. I’m sorry, feel free to leave.”

Something about that humility reminds Lena of Kara. And it is the reason—the only reason—that she says,

“What’s your name?”

“Oh! Nia. Nia Nal,” the woman says.

Lena takes that in with a small nod. “I hear your newspaper has been trying to interview me.”

“Yes! And let me be the first to apologize for that,” Nia says without missing a beat. “My boss is intense, but she would never run a story without your consent. Well, most of the time anyway.”

Lena crosses her arms. A terrible, truly terrible, idea is forming in her head. “Your boss sounds like quite the influence.”

“She’s a go-getter,” Nia agrees. “But brilliant! Really, she’s one of the best people in the business.”

“I see.” Lena clears her throat. That awful idea js pressing forward, a burgeoning impulse that she can’t help but indulge. “So…what would happen if I were to give my consent to a story about me?”

Nia blinks. “That would be the best thing to ever happen to me,” she says. Pauses. “That is not as pathetic as it sounds, I swear.”

Mind made up, Lena holds out her hand. “Then let’s talk, Ms. Nal,” she says. “I think we’ll have lots of ground to cover.”

.

.

.

“You’re talking to the press? _Willingly?_”

“Not all of us can be reclusive billionaires,” Lena scoffs, signaling for Kara to walk ahead. Kara, predictably, sticks around to wait. “This reporter seems like she won’t butcher my story. She’s…quirky.”

“What story is that, exactly?” Lex asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. I just want to make it known that I’m more than my past,” Lena says. “Honestly, this entire trip is just a blip on the radar.”

“That’s good. Put the entire experience behind you,” Lex says. “What about the whole…investigating your mother’s death?”

Lena casts an uneasy glance at Kara from the corner of her eye. “I’m hoping that by giving a story, the press won’t catch on to my intentions.”

“Your _intentions_,” Lex echoes. “Lena—you know this is silly, don’t you?”

“It might seem frivolous to _you_, but I’m not as lucky as you are,” Lena says. “I can’t explain it now. I’m…busy.”

“Of course.” Lex goes quiet for a beat. “Well, enjoy your morning with Kara.”

An unbidden blush rises to Lena’s cheeks. She isn’t sure why Lex’s knowing tone sparks such a reaction.

“I’ll call you later,” is all she says in reply. “Bye, Lex.”

Kara is faithfully waiting a few paces away, hands kept nonchalantly in her pockets. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, you know how Lex is,” Lena laughs it off. “He’s a worrier.”

“Another trait that runs in the Luthor family,” Kara says, grinning, and when they start walking again her shoulder brushes up against Lena’s. “I missed you like crazy. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“How can you miss me? We literally go home to the same place,” Lena says, again unsure why her heart seems to lodge itself in her throat. With every thump of her heartbeat, it stings. “And you spend most of your nights in my bed.” Said aloud, her words are so…_suggestive_ that she blushes again.

But Kara—secure, easygoing Kara—remains steadfast. “So? I miss hanging out with you,” she says. “Even if I _do_ have to share you with my mom.”

Lena had almost forgotten about that. “She won’t hate me, will she?”

“My mom? Of course not. She doesn’t hate anyone.”

“But will she like me?” Lena presses. She’s beyond caring if she sounds needy; right now she needs to be reassured. 

“Lena.” Kara stops and grips Lena’s shoulders, making direct eye contact. “Eliza is going to _adore_ you. I know it.”

“You have to say that—you’re my best friend.”

“Well, I’m right.” Kara hops up onto the crumbling sidewalk with a self-satisfied hum. “Come on, it’s right down this alley.”

Lena guess that it wouldn’t be nice to back out. She follows, even if this seems like the setup of any horror movie imaginable.

Eliza Danvers lives in a modest three-bedroom house with leaky faucets and two cracked windows. She is a hugger, and her form of greeting Lena is a firm, quick embrace that leaves Lena a tad confused. Knowing she is Kara’s mother makes her much less unnerving, but Lena is nervous nonetheless—how can she make up for her poor first impression?

As it turns out, she doesn’t need to. Eliza assures her that it is a pleasure to see her again, and brings out a pitcher of tea for everyone to share.

“When did you two meet?” Kara gives Lena a funny look. “Lena didn’t mention it.”

Lena averts her eyes. “We met briefly,” she says. “At a grocery store. Mrs. Danvers recognized me, so…”

“Lena, please,” Eliza laughs. “You can call me Eliza. It’s my fault for ambushing her, Kara. She probably was embarrassed.”

“That’s not it,” Lena tries to protest, but Eliza waves off the idea.

“Kara, you never told me Lena was an actress,” she goes on instead. “I mentioned her to Mrs. Goldstein down the road and she was very surprised—apparently her son is a fan.”

“I’m not a very big name,” Lena interjects on Kara’s behalf. “Hardly anyone recognizes me.”

“Lena has a thing about not telling people,” Kara says. “I think it’s lame.” She grins at Lena, reaching across the table to nudge her hand. “Personally, I believe Lena deserves to be hounded 24/7 by adoring fans.”

“You’re the only fan I need,” Lena jokes, and she allows herself to nudge Kara back. “Besides, you know that’s not my style. I prefer to keep a quiet life, if I can.”

“Your mother was the same way,” Eliza says kindly, and Lena’s heart nearly stops.

“You knew my mother?” she says. She knows her surprise is palpable; the way Eliza smiles in response, sad but understanding, only reaffirms the notion.

“In a way…” Eliza tops off Lena’s iced tea glass, even if it’s barely a splash before it fills once more. “She came to me once, to invite me to her church. I declined, but we had a nice chat for a while. She always seemed very sweet.”

“What did you talk about?” Lena asks. “If it’s alright, to ask.”

“Oh, I can’t remember now. The weather, her classes, the work I was doing,” Eliza says. “No, hold on, she was telling me she had a spot on the church choir—she had such a lovely voice. But she was extremely humble. Wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

“And was she…a very social person?” Lena says.

“Not at all,” Eliza replies. “Like I said, she kept a quiet life. Just as you do.” She stands up to retrieve whatever’s cooking in the oven, and she pauses to lovingly pat Kara’s cheek as she passes. “I hope you two are hungry. I made chocolate pecan pie.”

“You did?!” Kara gasps. “Lena, that’s my favorite pie ever.”

“I know,” Lena laughs. “You tell me at any opportunity.”

“But you don’t understand! Eliza’s chocolate pecan pie is the _best_ you’ll ever have. It will ruin you for all others,” Kara says, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

“I believe it,” Lena says, even if she’s not very fond of such sweet treats. For Kara’s sake, she accepts a large piece and takes an obligatory bite while the others watch on. “It’s amazing, Mrs. Danvers. Thank you.”

“_Eliza_,” Eliza reminds her, but she is smiling. “Thank _you_, Lena. You’ve done the unbelievable: brought Kara home.”

“Mom,” Kara groans, “I visit all the time.”

“A few times a year is not _all the time_,” Eliza counters. “Now if I can convince Alexandra to come, maybe we can eventually have a real family reunion.”

At the mention of Alex, Kara goes silent. Lena is beginning to wonder if there’s something that Kara hasn’t told her.

.

.

.

Mr. Johnson has a closed casket funeral.

Lena sits at the back of the church, alone, and tries to keep her hands from trembling in her lap. She isn’t sure what pushed her to come. She didn’t know him; she only bribed him once, and that already makes her feel guilty beyond belief. Should that be something to disclose to the police? Should she even float the possibility to someone?

With no answer to either question, all she can do is sit and wait. Already this murder has shaken the town up—for a small town with few instances of crime, a grisly occurance like this one has everyone on edge.

Even Kara had commented on it, after the news broke out. “It’s a shame,” she’d said, “that people become so invested in someone after they die. His poor family…” She had trailed off then, and changed the subject. Lena had noticed that Kara didn’t say anything about Mr. Johnson at all, just that his family was probably going to face unwarranted attention from the press.

Two pews away someone starts bawling. The sobs echo in a manner that is very out of place in an otherwise silent church.

Lena has no concept of how to pay respects, but she rises from her seat at last with every intention to drop some money in the church collection and go—until someone enters, and she sinks back in disbelief. Sinks back, really, because Kara has no idea she’s here…and it’s Kara who has just walked through the church doors.

It wasn’t a deliberate decision not to tell Kara she would be here. In fact, when Kara had asked what her plans were for the day, Lena had settled for a simple “I might explore the town today,” and Kara had left it at that. Yet when Lena asked Kara _her_ plans, Kara had said she would drive out of town for the afternoon to pick up some parts for the back steps.

And yet here she is. Dressed head-to-toe in black like she always meant to stop by Mr. Johnson’s funeral.

Kara approaches Mr. Johnson’s wife and shakes her hand, then begins to speak to her. Lena is too far away to even begin to imagine what they could be talking about, but she can make out Mrs. Johnson shaking her head and turning away. Kara tries, again, to say something—perhaps ask her something—but a tall, skinny man that must be her son steps in to dissuade her from continuing.

Lena waits to see if Kara will leave, but she doesn’t. She makes her way to the casket instead, and stands there for a minute, before she finally walks away. Lena wonders what on Earth has possessed Kara to show up here. She didn’t _know_ Mr. Johnson, or at least didn’t seem to.

_Could Kara be hiding something?_

As quickly as she ponders the possibility, Lena pushes the thought away. This is _Kara_, the girl who had sheepishly admitted she didn’t like whiskey before Lena had even set her tumbler down the first night they met. Sure, this town seems to bring out some bad memories for her, but that’s to be expected. It doesn’t make Kara a bad person to _lie_ once in a while. 

After all…Lena is guilty of keeping a few secrets herself.

Mind made up, Lena slips out of the building when she is positive Kara will not see her leave. Later Kara asks how Lena’s day exploring went, and Lena hums and calmly flips a page of _Frankenstein_ as she replies,

“It was alright. Uneventful.”

And when she asks about Kara’s drive, about whether or not the traffic was terrible, Kara merely shrugs.

“It was okay,” Kara says. “Not too bad.”

It’s funny, really. Lena never realized that they are quite good at lying to each other.

.

.

.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Outwardly, Mrs. Johnson does not react very much; the smallest hint of a furrowed brow is the most Lena gets, before she turns away. “Thanks,” she mutters after a beat, wholly preoccupied with handling the screeching kettle. “D’you take sugar?”

“No, thank you.” Lena wraps her hands around a steaming mug when it’s offered, and ignores the burn against her palms. She can’t help but cast a curious glance around the room when Mrs. Johnson turns back around—the Johnson home is the kind of small that makes minimalist decor appear cluttered.

It’s no wonder why Mr. Johnson jumped at the chance for some extra money beneath the table. The wallpaper is peeling, the floor tiles groan, and the ceiling is streaked with water stains; this shabby one-story home is on the brink of collapse.

“Hope chamomile’s okay.” Mrs. Johnson sits down painstakingly slow, almost as if it takes her a considerable amount of effort. She surveys Lena critically for a moment, as Lena assures her that chamomile is just fine; Lena suspects Mrs. Johnson doesn’t really care to discuss the intricacies of tea flavors. “You mind if I be direct with you for a second?”

“Go ahead,” Lena says, trying not to read into the way Mrs. Johnson’s lips thin into a frown.

“I know,” Mrs. Johnson says, “that you were fuckin’ my husband.”

Lena blinks. “I’m…sorry?”

“I’m not stupid,” Mrs. Johnson sniffs. “I know my husband was sneakin’ around the station after hours. You’re the only person who’s asked to talk about him with me, so I assume you were the one to blame for all them late nights.”

“Mrs. Johnson, I never slept with your husband,” Lena says, frankly a bit offended that _that’s_ the conclusion she has come to. “I asked if I could speak to you…because I was hoping you could tell me why your husband called me the day he died.”

Mrs. Johnson narrows her eyes. “You’re the one he called?”

“Yes.” Lena finds herself leaning forward ever-so-slightly. “I just want to know why.”

“I’d like to know why myself.” Mrs. Johnson is scowling now; clearly, she is still hung up on her adulteress theory. “What was goin’ on with you and my husband?”

Lena hesitates. “That is…a complicated question to answer, ma’am.”

“You’re not from around here,” Mrs. Johnson persists. “People like to gossip. And one of his friends on the force said he saw you two gettin’ friendly.”

“I did not sleep with your husband,” Lena reiterates, tiredly, as she squashes the urge to shout something along the lines of _why would I fuck a man well into his 50’s?!_

“The police already asked me about my husband’s call log. They traced _your_ number and asked me who you were to him.” Mrs. Johnson’s tea sits untouched. “I’d like to know your answer.”

“I…approached your husband on a matter of his work,” Lena admits. “Mrs. Johnson—I’m not proud of it, but I asked if he might procure a document for me off the record.”

The fight seems to drain out of Mrs. Johnson completely. “Well,” she says, “that explains the secret-keepin’.” She sounds defeated, as though this turn of events is entirely disappointing…or perhaps not out of the ordinary.

“Did he never tell you?” Lena asks, making sure to choose her words carefully. “Could he have found something, before…”

“Before he was murdered?” Mrs. Johnson’s voice grows sharp once more. “I wouldn’t know.”

Lena bites her lip. “I’m sorry,” she offers, at last. “For bringing this to your doorstep.”

“You’d better bring your business to the police,” Mrs. Johnson snorts. “They’ll have more questions than I do.” She finally reaches for her cup, but she only stirs it pensively and does not drink. “I hate to imagine,” she says suddenly, “that everyone’ll think differently of him now.”

“Your husband was a good man,” Lena says. “I don’t think anyone doubts that.” It is an empty assurance; Lena didn’t know Mr. Johnson at all, and Mrs. Johnson knows it.

But Mrs. Johnson simply stares at her for a moment. Her expression is guarded, perplexed, and ultimately all she says is, “You’d better go. My son is comin’ round soon.”

“Of course.” Lena places her own untouched mug on the table—Mrs. Johnson does not seem concerned at all by the fact that Lena hasn’t actually drank it. “Thank you for speaking with me, Mrs. Johnson. If there’s anything I can do for you and your family…”

“You’ve done enough,” says Mrs. Johnson curtly. Lena wisely does not question what that means; she figures she will not like the answer.

She walks three blocks away from the Johnson home before she calls Kara to pick her up. 

.

.

.

“Did you know you’ve been having a torrid love affair with Veronica Sinclair?”

Lena snorts at the feigned scandalized tone of Kara’s voice. “Am I?” she says. “That’s news to me.”

“Yep, apparently it’s been an off-and-on thing for the last six months. Wow. Some best friend _you_ are. You didn’t even tell me!” Kara jokingly pinches her shoulder as she passes by and Lena laughs, pretending to bat her hand away for it.

“No one even told _me_,” Lena says. “What gossip mill is having a slow enough day that they’ve turned to my love life?”

“It’s some speculative fan blog. They misspelled ‘torrid,’ though,” Kara says. When Lena turns around to narrow her eyes in Kara’s direction, she sees Kara is glued to her phone once more.

“Kara Danvers,” Lena says, “are you researching me on the internet?”

“…maybe?” 

“You can’t possibly be _that_ bored,” Lena says. “_I_ don’t even read gossip about me.”

“Sometimes it pops up in my recommended articles!” Kara protests; she looks up, sheepish, and Lena can’t even bring herself to pretend to be mad at her. “I’m curious to a fault. You love that about me.”

“I’d love you _more_ if you helped stretch out these cobwebs,” Lena says, trying to ignore the fact that saying the word _love_ is somehow much harder to do than it used to be. “You know, since this was _your_ idea after all.”

“It wasn’t my idea! It was Winn’s. Right, Winn?”

“Yeah, sorry—oops, spider incoming!” hollers Winn Schott, somewhere from high above their heads. True to his word, a large felt spider tumbles onto the grass below. “Can someone toss that back?”

Kara cups her hands around her mouth to shout, “Winn, just let me put the roof decorations up! I know you’re scared of heights!”

“This is my house and you’re my guest, Kara, so I will not let you do that!” Winn calls back.

Lena shakes her head at their antics, but to herself; they don’t even notice she’s watching their exchange. She likes Winn—he’s the friend of Kara’s that she sees most, and so she’d readily agreed to help decorate his house for Halloween that afternoon. It is certainly the most entertaining way to spend her time, because Winn and Kara are a _riot_ together.

“Look at him, he’s shaking so hard he can’t even put the lights up,” Kara grumbles, coming back beside Lena. “If I was up there I could do it right.”

“You have a tendency to try to fix everything for everyone. Do you know that?” Lena says. She knows it comes off too fond to be teasing, but Kara grins unabashedly at her anyway.

“It’s the country life,” she says. “It brings out the chivalry.”

“I’ll bet,” Lena snorts. “Come and help me then, if you’re so chivalrous.”

Kara dutifully joins her in untangling the fake spiderwebs Lena has been stretching over the buses. Kara _loves_ Halloween—or really, she loves candy, but this time of year cheers her up like no other either way. Lena can take this holiday or leave it, but she goes along with Kara’s plans every year. The one thing she’d managed to dissuade Kara from doing was decorating their temporary residence, but when Winn asked for their help to decorate his house, that had distracted Kara entirely from the idea.

“Hey, we should have a horror movie marathon later,” Kara suggests. “To really get into the Halloween spirit. Winn!” She shouts. “Do you want to watch horror movies with us?”

“No!” Winn shouts back. A pause. “But I’ll do it!”

Kara nudges Lena with her elbow and says, “One down. What do you say?”

“Sure,” Lena agrees absentmindedly. “But you know I can’t stomach those films very much.”

“What? Then how come you came with me to theatres to watch _The Nun_ last year?”

_Because you wanted me to_, Lena wants to say. She wants to roll her eyes at the question, even—how can Kara not _know_ how important her friendship is? But she can’t fault her, either; sometimes Lena doesn't understand it herself. There is just something about Kara, something that makes Lena do stupid things, something that undermines Lena’s walls entirely.

“I thought I should give horror movies a chance,” Lena lies instead. “I regretted it, obviously.”

“You should’ve said something!” Kara pouts. “Okay, so no horror movie marathon then. How about we go for a night in town? There’s an awesome bakery I’ve been meaning to show you. They make the _best_ pumpkin cupcakes.”

“You don’t have to do that. You can invite your friends over for a movie night,” Lena assures her. “I’ll just sit in bed and read.”

“That won’t be as fun as cupcakes,” Kara argues, but Lena shakes her head.

“I’m serious. Have fun, make plans,” she insists.

“Or,” Kara persists, “I can stay in with you and read, too.”

Lena can’t help it; she smiles. “Don’t you remember the last time you did that? You gave up on your book thirty minutes in.”

“That…was because it didn’t have enough about dinosaurs. The cover was false advertising.”

“I’ve read _The Lost World_. There are plenty of dinosaurs.” Lena wants to pinch the collar of Kara’s shirt to make her laugh, but she doesn’t. “I’ll survive a night alone.”

“You can’t just sit in the house while everyone hangs out downstairs,” Kara protests. “Please hang out with us? We can have a different movie marathon. Like Disney! You like Disney movies.”

“Do I?” Lena crinkles her nose, considering, because it will make Kara’s jaw drop incredulously. It’s _adorable_ how worked up she gets about the simplest things—movies included. “I’m only teasing, darling. But you don’t worry about me. I’m used to spending my time alone.”

“You realize how sad that sounds, right? Like it’s not just me?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lena says, batting Kara’s hands away when she tries to squeeze Lena’s. “Go help Winn and leave me to my wallowing nights.”

“You can’t joke about wallowing, Lena!” Kara says. This time when she throws an arm around Lena’s shoulders to give her a tight half-hug, Lena allows it; her face is pressed against Kara’s jean jacket, the buttons scraping against her chin, but it is far from uncomfortable. “Please watch a Disney movie with me. I promise it won’t be _The Lion King_, since I know the hyenas freak you out.”

“They do _not_,” Lena says, even though they do. “And I know you love _The Lion King_, which is all the more reason to watch it without me.”

“But what will _you_ do without me?” Kara throws Lena her signature wounded look—she aims to look as pitiful as possible, but all it does is make her look like she’s giving the worst fake pout of all time.

Lena pretends to think about it. “Well, I don’t know if you heard, but apparently I’m in the middle of a sexy love affair…maybe I’ll give my lover a call.”

That makes Kara snort, and she lets go of Lena entirely, but not too far—she rests a hand loosely on Lena’s hip, a touch that is mindless on Kara’s part but sparks goosebumps to erupt over Lena’s arms; her eyes flicker to Kara’s face, to the way Kara laughs so sunnily. Kara catches her staring, and beams from ear-to-ear at her, but does not step away even then.

“As long as you don’t replace me with her,” Kara says. “I still get best friend status, right?”

Her words are teasing, playful, and should not sit so heavily in Lena’s stomach but they _do_. It takes Lena a beat too long to reply; she laughs uneasily, and gently steps away when Kara’s hand catches against the loop of her jeans.

“No promises,” Lena says, meant to come across just as lighthearted, but it’s weak even to her own ears.

Kara does not notice. Lena isn’t sure whether to be thankful or disappointed. 

.

.

.

Sleeping with Kara feels like a luxury, like something Lena hadn’t known she was missing.

The nightmares are far and few in between, and when they _do_ startle Lena awake, the warm weight of Kara behind her (and the arm loosely draped over her waist) are always enough to make her feel safe. And that’s something Lena also never considered—the fact that maybe she’s felt _unsafe_ all this time.

She doesn’t even know the root of the nightmares, really. They started when she was young, and they’d been relatively tame, then; mostly about the dark, because Luthor Manor was so large and empty and foreboding. Her earliest memories consist of sitting up in the dead of night, pulling the covers over her head, praying for daylight to come quicker. Sometimes Lex would sit with her if he heard her tossing and turning; he was always up late into the night, and he would talk to Lena until she finally fell asleep—every morning she’d wake up and he would be gone, and they never talked about the nightmares outside of those pockets of time.

But the dreams have certainly involved into something decidedly more sinister since. Lena is sure it’s stress, or simply too many horror movies, but nothing she tries to stop them will work. Sleeping pills aren’t an option, melatonin no longer has any effect on her body, and cutting caffeine from her diet does more harm than good. To top off her frustration, these dreams are quite _infrequent_. They come and go, really, and there’s no telling when the next will occur.

When Lena wakes up tonight, her heart is _hammering_ in her chest; the details of this particular dream are fuzzy, with no distinguishable qualities. But there are bits of static throbbing in the back of her mind, little pricks of icy-cold terror still crawling up her spine, and she has to take a minute to breathe.

Kara is holding her tightly in her sleep, and that helps—Lena exhales and Kara’s arm tightens. It feels nice, all things considered. After a few minutes creep by, Lena gives up on the prospect of sleeping and very gently slips out of Kara’s grasp.

She heads downstairs, not bothering to hit the lights as she goes. Outside the wind howls; it is a surprisingly bitter night, and Lena wishes she’d brought a blanket down with her. But she doesn’t take the time to grab one, opting instead for starting up the kettle to make a cup of tea to warm up. Once it’s done she sits at their little fold-out table with her hands wrapped around her mug, not taking a sip, just basking in its warmth.

Every resident of Midvale is on high alert because of Mr. Johnson’s murder, and Lena is not immune to the fear; it’s kept her up many a night, too. But for once, being alone in this large house with only the wind outside for company isn’t scary. It’s somewhat peaceful, even—Lena has time to reflect on her next step in investigating her mother’s murder.

In one moment of weakness she had considered going to talk to her mother’s “killer” in person, but it simply wouldn’t make sense; he’s in National City prison, and it would be a trip out of her way. Lena has drafted many letters to him over the years, never out of genuine interest, but perhaps a sick sense of melancholy—she counts herself lucky to have never sent them. The worst, she remembers, was when she first picked up a pen at age ten; to this day that letter—asking why this man took her mommy away when her new mom doesn’t really like her very much—still makes Lena down at least three glasses of scotch in one sitting.

“Look at me now, mother,” Lena says, forces back a curt, bitter laugh. “It’s like I’m ten again. Just thinking about the past I can’t rewrite.” If Lillian Luthor were here she would _sneer_ at Lena’s life choices. She’d probably even call her a sentimental fool, for missing someone she never really knew.

This inspires Lena to pick up her mother’s death report again. One name stands out to her: Sheriff Collins, the acting sheriff during the investigation. He is no longer the sheriff today, but he might be a good starting point nevertheless. Maybe he can shed some light on the investigation process, for the right amount of money.

A crash from outside distracts her briefly. The wind must be knocking around the trash cans outside, and Lena decides it’s a sign to leave her plans for tomorrow. She finishes her now lukewarm tea, then washes the mug. While she completes this small task, she hears footsteps descend down the stairs—Kara must have noticed her absence.

“Hey,” Lena says without turning around. “I’m sorry I woke you. I just…” She trails off as she finally finishes; when she turns around, Kara is nowhere to be found. “Kara?”

Silence. Lena lets it slide—Kara has probably come downstairs to use the bathroom. Of course, there _is_ a bathroom upstairs…but no, Lena probably has begun to imagine things. She gathers all the papers off the kitchen table and prepares to retire for the night, turning off all the lights and holding up her phone flashlight to guide her up the stairs.

A sudden, light scuffle of shoes against the floor distract her when she takes her first step. “Kara, there you are,” Lena says, aiming her flashlight in the direction of the sound. But it falls on an empty wall, and Lena frowns. “Kara? Are you messing with me? Because it’s not funny.”

Still no reply. A chill begins to fill the house, gradual but insistent, as though someone has left a door open somewhere. It gives Lena a very uneasy feeling; for a second she considers the possibility that she is still dreaming.

“Kara, I _swear_—”

The next thing Lena registers is falling—not so much the act of it, just the feeling. Her knees buckle beneath her but she never reaches the floor; there is a hand wrapped around her mouth and an arm pressed tightly around her shoulders and neck, so strong and constricting that when she screams no sound comes out.

Her phone clatters to the floor. It is a distant sound, one that swims in her ears. The pressure against her throat is so tight that she wheezes more than breathes; her throat stings with the struggle for air; her eyes water against her will. She tries to pry the hand off her mouth but she can’t, she can’t muster any strength. Her nails scrape helplessly against the skin of her attacker but her hands won’t work, _can’t_ work, like the shock has numbed her brain entirely.

When she finally falls it is because she is thrown, not dropped, and the first thing she does is suck in air—it burns when it fills her lungs, slow and painful, and she grasps at her chest with a pained gasp. The thump of her body against the hardwood is jarring; her temple smashes rather sharply against the floor, and she spends at least thirty seconds unable to move because of it.

The invader in her home looms above but does not make a move to touch her. He only stares down, a shadowy figure in the dark, stocky and tall and unfamiliar. Lena scrambles away from him and he follows with careful, measured steps, as Lena locates her phone once more. Her shaky hands refuse to cooperate, however, and her attempt to call 911 is thwarted anyway when this stranger takes the phone out of her hands. He throws it so hard it hits the wall and its screen shatters, so quickly that it happens in a blink of an eye.

“What do you want from me?” Lena asks, and her voice comes out scratchy and faint; it takes a considerable effort to even speak. She wants to shout for Kara—wants to shout for help in general—but she is paralyzed with fear, and can’t imagine what he will do if she tries.

He takes a step closer. Lena is hanging off the end of the stairs, trembling fingers trying to find purchase on the railing, to hoist herself up. But she is dizzy, and her head _throbs_, and she can’t muster the smallest amount of energy.

She is prepared to die here. An ironic end—like mother like daughter. Lena swallows, feels blood in her mouth from how badly she has bitten her tongue. The taste of iron is thick, repulsive, and worsens her headache. Only maybe it’s not a headache; it might be the beginning of a concussion, because it is becoming harder and harder for Lena to keep her eyes open.

Her eyelids are heavy as she glances up at the ceiling. The room has begun to spin; the figure of the man before her multiplies, then comes closer, and then vanishes. Faintly, she hears more footsteps—this time they rattle beneath her head, and she realizes it must be Kara. _Kara…_Kara needs to be warned. Lena can’t let Kara get hurt, too, and she tries to lift her head up to find her.

But she can only sink further into herself, hands slipping off the step she’s curled on and causing her to roll down onto the floor again. Someone is yelling. She can hear the sounds, fuzzy as they are, because they are so loud. Something crashes to the floor beside her. Maybe it’s her phone. No…her phone has already fallen. This must be something else. The lamp, probably, because it sounds like the lightbulb has shattered.

“Lena?! Lena, I'm here. Wake up. Don’t close your eyes. Lena—" 

_That_ must be Kara. It sounds like Kara. When Lena blearily cracks her eyes open, all she sees is blood: spots of blood dotting Kara's shirt, drops of blood dripping down the side of her face. It doesn’t even register at first that Kara is placing a hand on Lena’s cheek, but she is, because her hands are cold and wet—wet with blood, and it smears against the corner of Lena’s mouth when Kara cups her face and implores,

“Lena, can you hear me? I’m going to call for an ambulance. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?”

Lena licks her lips, tastes the blood on her teeth. She exhales, shudders, thinks _oh Kara, what have you done?_ But her thought fades harmlessly into nothing—everything vanishes, and Lena never gets to ask what happened tonight.

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://pippytmi.tumblr.com/) if you want (& if you want some music for reading this fic, i made a [playlist here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1wMXMVqXHpLOBfDzLOOpkv?si=H6Cjf2iyTgyACdHiY7Xtjg) for all the halloween-esque vibes) 💜


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